Diet Club
by PitcairnMan
Summary: A "Rohan Weir Project" fic. Gene's parents force him to join a Weight Watchers-type diet program, although he suspects shady operations.
1. Dear Journal

Chapter 1: Dear Journal  
  
  
(DISCLAIMER: I do not own "The Rohan Weir Project." All characters and locales contained therein are the creations of IN.DO.GU.TSU and should be regarded as such. "Diet Club" is a derivative work of Vil "PitcairnMan" Genner, and is protected under the Fair Use Act of 1974. Please direct all comments and queries concerning "Diet Club" to the author's e-mail address at pitcairnman@hotmail.com)  
  
  
  
  
  
Dear Journal,  
  
It's been a few years since I wrote an entry here. You see, until a few months ago, I kept an online journal. The thing that made me break you out again was, well, my lack of a computer. The 'rents kept threatening to disconnect it for good and mail it to my older brother in Novartis if I didn't make any improvement in school, and I didn't even believe they were serious at the time. Well, unfortunately for me, they followed each and every one of their words, and now I'm stuck writing my thoughts by hand, using a black erasable pen, like a sucker. Feels like it's 8010 all over again, before the age of widespread personal computer ownership...  
  
On a positive note, my membership in the Lancers' Federal Order has brought me nothing but opportunities to save the city. First, my squad was called upon to save the swankiest department store in the mall from a pack of two-bit street toughs. For the first time in my life, I was hailed as a hero. But that still wasn't enough to make my parents happy, who seem to be obsessed with grades or something. It doesn't even matter if I save the world from an army of alien vampires bent on conquering humanity and feasting on the blood of their newly dominated slaves. If I'm not making straight A's, I'm nothing to them.  
  
It's not that I'm stupid, or that I can't concentrate in school, or that I have an undiscovered and unnamed learning disability. OK, maybe it's all of the above, but also, it's that everyone who works at Andrew Aversa Senior High School is out to get me. I know, it might sound paranoid, but I have reason to believe this is true. A schoolwide conspiracy. Flyers posted on the walls, advertising a student group whose sole purpose is to discriminate against me. An organization that the administrators have actually given their blessing to...  
  
Final exams are long over, and the end of the school year has passed. I was held back because I failed every class except Anime, while I at least got to see my friends move on to higher institutions in the area so we could keep in touch. (Meanwhile, my old enemies, those stuck-up preppies, all moved to Novartis and got jobs with the government there.) And I still maintain friendly relations with that lovely pink-haired girl I met when I was attending a conference in Sydenham Palace for a few days. Because I have no e-mail access, we exchange letters every now and then. Yes. Letters. People actually still write letters by hand. In this day and age, very few people. But enough to still keep the post offices running.  
  
No matter how sucky my life is, I'll never forget that special time I shared with that girl, and how much we meant to each other. Every little detail of that night sticks in my head vividly. It could be that we kissed, and it seemed to last for ages. It could be that we shared all of our innermost secrets, or it could be that we held hands and watched the constellations in the night sky above Anglator. Or it could be that, for the first time in my life, there was a seemingly bottomless vat of Triple Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ice Cream at the dinner party, I had unlimited access to it, and my diet-monitoring parents were nowhere to be found.  
  
That's another thing I think I should mention. Since my last entry in this journal, my gargantuan physique hasn't changed at all. My oft-mentioned parents try as hard as they can to enforce cruel new-age diets. (God, I hated that one diet where I could eat anything I wanted for one minute every two weeks.) It seems as if I'm the embodiment of everything they could possibly hate in a son. Morbidly overweight, with no marketable skills.  
  
Since it doesn't look like I'll get a new computer anytime soon, I'll definitely be back to write another entry in this journal. Until then...  
  
Gene Rothman 


	2. Rude Awakening

Chapter 2: Rude Awakening  
  
  
"Rise and shine, eight-o'clockers! You're listening to KTHX-FM Manhasset on this beautiful Monday morning in late June! Let's get the ball rolling with the latest hit from those two ladies from Novartis! This is 'Don't Not Be Somebody' by Efinel, on KTHX-FM Manhasset."  
  
The DJ's 90-mile-an-hour banter woke 17-year-old Gene Rothman from a peaceful sleep. He muttered to himself and turned off his alarm clock radio, because he particularly disliked the music of Efinel. Gene always hated getting up in the morning, because the time he spends in bed is one of the few times nothing bad could possibly happen to him.  
  
Constantly dealing with school and his parents, Gene was inevitably led to depression, and one of the few things he could do to combat his depression was eat. This, in turn, led to his obesity, which led to further nagging by his parents and discrimination by his schoolmates and teachers. It was a vicious cycle that took over a decade to perfect.  
  
Gene grumbled and staggered to his closet, where he got out of his pajamas and put on an extra-large green shirt and blue clamkicker jeans. The jeans had a waist size of 48 and holes in the thighs from constantly rubbing together. After strapping on his trademark metallic blue headband, which he thought complemented his spikey orange-brown hair quite nicely, Gene was ready to face the day.  
  
Or so he thought.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Did you get fatter overnight?"  
  
Those five words, like daggers through Gene's heart. But he was used to hearing it, as those words were said to him every day for the past four or five years, the second he opened his bedroom door to face the world.  
  
"You know, a simple 'Good morning' would be nice," Gene replied. Standing downstairs was Gene's father Desmond, a high-profile lawyer in the city. Desmond's hair was rather white for his age, an attribute for which he often blamed the tribulation of raising his second son. Gene's mother Molly, another big-name lawyer, shared her husband's shade of hair.  
  
"What am I going to do with you... You're 17 years old, almost 18, and you have no plans concerning a long-term career. Of course, nobody would think of hiring you with your grade point average. Not even McDaravon's."  
  
Every day since the last day of Gene's senior year of high school (which he would have to repeat in the fall), it was the same exact sermon about jobs and grades and weight. Gene memorized every word of the speech, which never changed. Desmond would probably talk about his own hard times next.  
  
"I worked 19 hours a day in the post office to support my family, while saving up to go to law school! And once I finally enrolled in law school, I studied as hard as I could to become the top of the class! That's where I met your mother, and blah blah blah blah blah blah... Are you listening, or are you daydreaming about the next 500 of my fallons you're going to spend on Twinkies?"  
  
"No, Dad, I was listening."  
  
"Then could you tell me the 39th to the last word I said to you?"  
  
"Umm... It's 'the,' right?"  
  
"You little idiot. You haven't been listening at all. It's just in one ear and out the other with you, isn't it, Fatso? With your attention span, it's no wonder you finished this school year with a 0.59 GPA. A 0.59!!!"  
  
"At least it's up from last year's 0.46, Dad."  
  
"DON'T crack wise with me, you damn snotrag. This is no time for joking. This isn't 'What's The Line, Anyhow'!"  
  
"Err, I think you mean 'Whose Line Is It Anyway'."  
  
"Whatever! I have better things to do than sit around and watch Comedy Central all day and live off my parents' hard-earned, umm, earnings!"  
  
A woman's voice rang out from the kitchen. "Maybe his enormous girth is preventing a sufficient amount of oxygen from reaching his brain, dear."  
  
"Do we have to shout across the house like this, Molly? Why not come in here and the three of us can have a serious civilized conversation for once."  
  
  
  
  
  
It was the kind of moment Gene always dreaded. Face to face with his parents, sitting on opposite sides of the living room in the Rothmans' upscale high-rise apartment on Peter Fries Avenue. Desmond was the first to speak.  
  
"Now, son, your mother made a good point just now that I haven't even thought of before. Could your fat be making you dumb?"  
  
His wife followed. "If that's true, then we'll only need to worry about solving one problem instead of two. And then maybe it could lead to you getting a decent job and not sucking the life out of us."  
  
They had to use such words to their own flesh and blood, but that was just the way they were brought up. Gene mustered all of his courage to stand up to them.  
  
"But--"  
  
"No backtalk," interrupted Molly. "Remember, you're still on punishment for that hideous report card. Until you pull your average up to at least a 3.5, you're not allowed to give your opinion on anything."  
  
Desmond gasped. "3.5!? That could take decades! We'd be retired by then and unable to support this blob any longer!"  
  
"Maybe so," Molly replied, "but I think his weight is linked to his intelligence. I read in the Manhasset Times yesterday that there's this new weight loss center opening in town. Maybe we should sign Gene up for it. He needs guidance."  
  
"I agree with your mother, Gene. After all, what else are you going to do over the summer? Sit around the house and watch 'Spongecake Sweatpants'?"  
  
"Ummm... I believe it's 'Spongebob Squarepants'." Gene said weakly.  
  
Molly became furious. "I said 'no backtalk,' you dunderhead! Just for that, I'm upping it to 3.6!"  
  
Gene slapped his forehead. "D'oh!" 


	3. Welcome to Diet Club

Chapter 3: Welcome to Diet Club  
  
  
Gene and his parents arrived at the "Diet Club" weight loss center. It was laid out just like a doctor's office, complete with waiting room. And, as with all waiting rooms, there was a general feeling that something dire was about to happen. Before long, a tallish blonde in a white nurse's uniform greeted the Rothmans.  
  
"Welcome to Diet Club," she said with a smile. "I'm Lyn, the registered nurse, dietitian, and organizer of support groups and interventions. I take it that this young man is your son, and you want to sign him up for our program?"  
  
"Yes, that's correct," Molly replied. "Money is no object, and we're prepared to pay any amount of money so that Gene here can become a slim, productive, and normal member of society."  
  
"Very well. I guess you won't have a problem with our annual rate of 100,000 fallons, then? This covers the life management classes and documents, and a year's supply of both our special Italian salad dressing, and our exclusive 'Vitaciser' weight loss capsules with 100% ADAR-approved natural herbal extracts. And results are guaranteed; I've had one client who lost half of her entire weight in three weeks!"  
  
"Can't go wrong with that!" followed Desmond. "Consider it done!"  
  
"So, Nurse Lyn, could you explain the basic rules of this program?" Gene asked.  
  
"Well, the first rule of Diet Club is, you have to follow a strict diet of three all-vegetable salads a day. No cheese, no croutons. And it is imperative that you use our Italian dressing on these salads in order for weight loss to occur."  
  
Gene entered Diet Club expecting the worst, but even he was not prepared for a lifestyle change of this magnitude. He had never eaten a salad before in his life, and now he was being forced to live on them for who knows how long.  
  
"And how long am I supposed to subsist on nothing but salads?"  
  
"Quiet, you!" Molly hissed. "You make it sound like it's a bad thing!"  
  
"It's not?" blurted Gene without thinking of the consequences.  
  
"I see we have a comedian in our midst, Mr. and Mrs. Rothman." From the first words Lyn heard Gene utter, she found his flippant defiance of authority simply appalling. Gene knew that under Lyn's perky, fresh-out-of-med-school exterior, there lied the heart of a fiend. And he knew this from experience; he has met more than his share of fiends.  
  
"I'm afraid so, he's a regular John Belushi," Desmond sighed.  
  
Gene and Lyn looked at each other with confused looks in their eyes. At that moment, they had discovered their only similarity: they didn't know who John Belushi was. Perhaps if Desmond had referred to Chris Farley or Horatio Sanz instead...  
  
Lyn then realized she had strayed from her original subject, and switched to a more business-like tone. "The easy answer to your question, Gene, would be to restrict your diet to salads until you find yourself losing substantial amounts of weight. But there is a possibility you'd gain it all back, and more, if you go back to your old diet at this point. That's what the 'Vitaciser' pills are for. Take three before each meal, and they'll aid in the fat burning process while greatly reducing your cravings for non-salad foods. Understand now?"  
  
"Probably not," Gene's parents said in unison. Desmond continued, "His performance in school is so deficient, it's a wonder he graduated from kindergarten."  
  
Molly chimed in. "But that doesn't mean he won't follow your rules, Lyn. With model parents like Desmond and I, you can rest assured that your rules..."  
  
She turned to her son with a stern gaze that would probably turn Medusa to stone.  
  
"...WILL be enforced."  
  
"It's t-true, Nurse Lyn," Gene stuttered, his forehead dripping with beads of sweat. "Th-they're lawyers, s-so they're f-familiar w-w-with all the l-loopholes in ch-child abuse laws."  
  
Desmond muttered something about John Belushi.  
  
  
  
  
  
Because of Lyn's orders, the situation at the Rothmans' kitchen had never been worse for Gene. Desmond and Molly had bought a mini-fridge full of various salad greens and Diet Club dressing, while putting a combination lock on their own refrigerator, which was stocked with more appetizing fare. And if that wasn't enough, whenever Gene entered the vicinity of the kitchen, he was required to have at least one of his parents follow him at a distance of less than ten feet. They could not trust him at all.  
  
"Now take the pills that the nice lady gave you. They'll help turn you into a good boy, yes they will!" Molly almost sang. She was in an uncharacteristically vivacious mood, ecstatic that her youngest son was about to take the first steps toward being everything she wanted in a child. Intelligent, obedient, and slender. For so many years, she felt resentment and disappointment toward Gene, but for probably the first time in her life, she was optimistic about him.  
  
Gene knew this about her, but he didn't think it was necessary for her to address him like a dog or a two-year-old, though.  
  
"Now put the dressing on the salad. Not too much! That's a good boy. Remember to chew each bite at least 30 times! Chew, chew, chew..."  
  
Gene could not take this much longer. He choked down a fibrous mass of tasteless vegetable matter, seasoned with what he believed was acidic bile mislabeled as Italian dressing. After a rather audible gulp, he lashed out. "Mother! I realize that for a change, you're actually proud of me, and you maybe even LOVE me, because I finally broke down and yielded to your twisted wishes. But this dog-trainer act is getting really old, really fast! So... *urk*..."  
  
Before Gene could say another word, he jumped out of his chair, ran to the bathroom in the front hall, and slammed the door. For the next five or six minutes, Gene's body desperately tried to rid itself (from both ends) of this strange new food. After the digestive chaos ended, Gene started feeling weak and dizzy, and he eventually blacked out.  
  
  
  
  
  
Gene was awakened by a knock on the bathroom door, accompanied by his father calling to him from the other side.  
  
"Gene? You okay, sport? You've been in there for almost two hours!"  
  
It took about a second for Gene's mind to piece together what just happened. He caught his breath and yelled, "I'm all right!"  
  
"Great. I just wanted to tell you that your mother and I are going to leave for a couple of hours, to attend one of our lawyer friends' retirement parties. If anyone calls while we're out, let the machine get it."  
  
"Right, Dad!"  
  
"And don't go on the computer or play any video games while we're away. Oh, wait, that's right! You can't! Mwahahahahahahahaha!"  
  
Gene groaned, remembering how his computer and PlayStation were permanently taken from him because of his low grades. He wondered why Desmond had to rub it in, though.  
  
"Bye, dear!" Gene heard his recently jubilant mother from outside. Her voice triggered memories in Gene of better times in the past, back before he had started school and nothing was expected of him, so there were no ill feelings surrounding him. Gene longed for those days...  
  
As Gene heard his parents' car zoom out of the driveway, he noticed something new about himself; his blue clamkicker jeans were quite a bit looser. Feeling faint with hunger, he decided to take advantage of this parent-less situation and walk over to Murray's Deli for some true Manhasset cuisine. 


	4. Murray Geldfarb, The Man With All The An...

Chapter 4: Murray Geldfarb, The Man With All The Answers  
  
  
Manhasset was a cosmopolitan city with an impressive array of restaurants from all countries and cultures. Gene Rothman had been to the vast majority of them, but one of his personal favorites was a quaint little family-owned delicatessen on Paul Mazurek Drive, called Murray's. Gene would often invite the few friends he had to get together for dinner at this establishment, and because he was such a frequent customer, he became good friends with the owner of the place.  
  
Murray Geldfarb was a heavyset man with curly red hair, a beard, and thick round glasses. He was probably in his mid to late fifties, although he didn't look it. It was around the time of Gene's birth that the Geldfarbs opened their restaurant, and it was their warm and friendly atmosphere, as well as their superb menu, that kept them open for so many years. It's safe to say that their brisket platters, potato knishes, and build-your-own-bagel cart were major contributors to Gene's weight.  
  
When Gene stepped through the restaurant's door, he was instantly recognized by Murray, who was standing behind the counter.  
  
"Hey, Sadie! Mindy! It's my best customer, Gene Rothman! Great to see you again!"  
  
Sadie, who looked about ten years younger than her husband Murray, took a break from her kitchen duties to greet Gene at the doorway. Although the Geldfarbs recently hired a staff of trained cooks to accommodate the always-increasing number of customers, Sadie was the head chef of the family operation.  
  
Shortly after Sadie entered the scene, their daughter Mindy followed suit. She was about Gene's age, and had a similar body type as well -- completely unlike the girls at Gene's high school who were purposely starving themselves. About a year ago, Mindy got a part-time job as a waitress.  
  
"You're looking a little down there, Gene," said Sadie. She had a motherly instinct (more so than Gene's own mother, he felt), and a knack for being able to tell these things. "Some problems with the folks?"  
  
"Mrs. Geldfarb, you're talking to Gene Rothman. There're always problems with the folks." Gene never missed an opportunity to make a bon mot, but there was always a dark and depressed nature to his witticisms.  
  
"You also look different since we last saw you here," Mindy noticed. "It's like you've lost a lot of weight."  
  
Gene looked down at his protuberant belly. Although less pronounced than before, it still made it nearly impossible for Gene to see his shoes. "Whoa," he whoaed. "I didn't expect the change to occur THIS fast..."  
  
Murray's eyes lit up. "Change!? What kind of change?"  
  
"Well, Mr. Geldfarb," explained Gene, "you know that new weight loss center called 'Diet Club' that just opened across from Beau Folsom Park?"  
  
"Sure! Mindy told me she saw a commercial for it the other day. Why don't you tell Gene about it, Mind?"  
  
"Umm," Mindy ummed, "where do I start? First of all, there was this lady on the commercial. She wore a stereotypical nurse's uniform, and she was walking around the office making a lot of outrageous claims about people losing hundreds of pounds in a few short weeks."  
  
Sadie was shocked. "Weeks!? That absolutely can't be healthy."  
  
"She then mentioned a weekly support group that meets every Tuesday morning. That's tomorrow, right? If you're a member, you should go. Maybe find out some answers."  
  
"Yeah, unfortunately, I AM a member. You know that 'problem with the folks' I mentioned earlier? The problem is, they signed me up for this clearly experimental and potentially harmful process without my consent. They just wanted a quick fix."  
  
"Hey, speaking of quick fixes, why don't you order something already? You look fukhlempt." Murray knew exactly what Gene was here for, and what he needed.  
  
"All right then, Mr. Geldfarb! I'll have a double Manhasset Egg Cream while I look over the menu and decide what I want." Gene was a huge fan of that drink, which couldn't be found anywhere else. Maybe the sparkling seltzer water would calm his stomach down, he thought. It was still doing cartwheels. 


	5. Finding Your Inner Cave

Chapter 5: Finding Your Inner Cave  
  
  
The following day, Gene decided to walk over to Diet Club by himself, so he could attend Lyn's support group and meet other people who were suffering under her restrictive diet program. Gene had to tighten his belt by another notch, because he was rapidly losing weight as a result of another bout of severe nausea that woke him up in the middle of the night. He knew that this couldn't go on much longer.  
  
"Why, hello, Gene! You're looking thinner already!" The white-clad nurse excitedly greeted Gene the second he entered the waiting room. He wondered if she had a closet full of those outfits. "You're just in time for... The Meeting."  
  
Three unspeakably skinny young women, whom Gene guessed were all between the ages of 14 and 20, sat and read fashion magazines in the waiting room, all the while mumbling about reaching their ideal weights as if delirious. Each woman had a zombie-like glint in her eyes. Gene started to think this was less of a weight loss center, and more of a bizarre evil cult. He took a seat in the back, while Lyn took a whiteboard and a black marker out of a nearby supply closet, wrote "GOALS" on the whiteboard in very large block letters, and sat down in the front of the waiting room, facing all of her clients.  
  
"All rightee! Today, we're going to talk about why we're all here, and what GOALS we all want to accomplish!" Lyn motioned to the word "GOALS" on the whiteboard as she said it. Gene immediately figured out what Today's Secret Word was.  
  
"We'll start with you over there," Lyn chirped, pointing to the woman on the left side of the room.  
  
"My name is, like, Rachel, and I'm 19 years old y'know, and I'm here because, like, my boyfriend said that I was, like, putting on a little weight. So he'd TOTALLY get me a new car if I, like, lost 20 pounds in the next week! Like, oh my gosh! I couldn't say no to that football-playing stud!"  
  
"Well, Rachel, it's important to have someone in your life who is supportive of your health. And you'll be driving that new car in no time! Diet Club's patented 'Vitaciser' capsules have been proven to burn off hundreds of pounds in weeks!" Lyn, ever the entrepreneuse, never missed an opportunity to plug her company's products. She then pointed to the girl sitting next to Rachel, who looked like she just graduated from junior high.  
  
"My name is Amy and I'm 13, and I joined Diet Club because I think I could stand to be skinnier. Because when I get older and get interviewed for jobs and colleges, I want to really impress the interviewer with an hourglass shape!"  
  
Lyn clapped, and urged for the rest of the group to clap as well. They all did, except for Gene, who couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Bravo! Wonderful! Here we have a little girl who's so young, yet so eager to make plans for her own future! I salute you, Amy! Next!"  
  
"I'm Maya, I'm 16, and I'm fat. At least that's what all the girls have been telling me throughout my entire school career. And I think it's the reason why no boy has ever asked me out to a dance. Or maybe it's because I can't dance, but I'm sure my weight's a bigger reason."  
  
"Well, Maya, the reason why boys are staying away from you is because you lack confidence in yourself. And the best way to gain confidence is to achieve your optimum body image, or OBI. Diet Club can help you reach your OBI, especially if you take three of our 'Vitaciser' capsules before every meal!" Again with the advertisements and PC acronym buzzwords.  
  
Gene looked around the waiting room for any hidden cameras, thinking this was actually an elaborately staged infomercial and that Rachel, Amy, and Maya were just actresses.  
  
"Oh, and just for the curious," Lyn said, her eyes on Gene, "this is not an elaborately staged infomercial, and none of the people present here today are actresses. They are all actual clients of Diet Club."  
  
Gene was sweating. Was Lyn really able to read his thoughts, or was it just an uncanny coincidence? "So, Gene, since you seem so anxious to share why you're here with the other members, why don't you go next?"  
  
"All right. My name is Gene, I'm probably the only male client in the history of your business, and I find it rather interesting that these ladies want to lose weight even though they look slim enough to begin with."  
  
Gene was afraid Lyn would fly into a rage after hearing him say exactly what she didn't want him to, but he was surprised to see a smile appear on her face. Lyn was intrigued; she never had a client who posed a possible threat to her absolute authority. She never had a client who was actually happy with his body image. She never had a client whose spirit had not yet been broken by a society obsessed with men that had washboard abs and women whose clothing size numbers were fractions.  
  
And, for some warped reason, she liked it. She seemed a little turned on, even. She enjoyed a challenge, and she wanted to break Gene's spirit by herself.  
  
"So, Gene, tell me. Is there a lot of stress in your life?"  
  
"Why, yes. Insurmountable stress. Especially with school, and my parents."  
  
"Do you feel that the only way to cope with the agony of your day-to-day life, is to eat?"  
  
"Amazing, Nurse Lyn! How did you know?"  
  
Lyn winked at Gene. "For a lady who graduated at the top of her medical school class, being able to discern what goes on in these situations is only natural."  
  
The other women clapped, in awe of Lyn's gift of analysis.  
  
"Now," the professional continued, "since we spent more time than expected on the introductions, I thought I'd go straight to a little psychological exercise. I call it the 'Stomach Chakra'. Now, ladies and gentleman, close your eyes, and relax all your muscles... Empty your mind of all but my voice..."  
  
At first, Gene was reluctant to follow Lyn's instructions, but the hypnotic, almost chant-like quality of her voice made his consciousness gradually fade.  
  
"We're inside ourselves, we're inside ourselves... We open the door and we step further inside... We're in our stomachs..."  
  
Gene saw a vision of what it was like inside his stomach. Pink, pulsating muscular walls, oozing rivulets of Diet Club salad dressing and stomach acid, which were almost one in the same. At the bottom was a pool of this pungent-smelling acidic goo, with leaves of partially digested lettuce and spinach floating on the surface like lilypads.  
  
"Now, imagine your hunger as a white ball of filling light. That's right, the hunger itself is a ball of filling light. It moves over your body, filling you with love and spiritual nourishment. Keep this going and step forward, through the back door of the room. Where does it lead? To your cave. Step forward into your cave."  
  
Gene's imagination was in full blast at this moment. He found himself inside a vast cave of ice.  
  
"That's right. You're going deeper into your cave. And you're going to find your spirit animal..."  
  
Gene saw a rather large dog sitting on an iceberg in a lake of frozen water. The dog had light gray fur, a circular light purple nose, and a tuft of shaggy fur covering his eyes. He looked at Gene and waved his paw to signal Gene forward.  
  
"Food," the dog intoned in a deep voice.  
  
The dog jumped off the iceberg and across the frozen lake, and landed on the frosted soil ground. He then ran away.  
  
"I have GOT to stop watching HBO and the Cartoon Network before I go to bed," Gene said to himself.  
  
  
  
  
  
Gene was released from his trance when Rachel tapped his left shoulder. In a flash, the image of the ice cave was replaced by the Diet Club's waiting room. "Like, Gene, the session's over, you know. Time to, like, leave, n'stuff."  
  
Lyn was delivering her closing speech. "That's all for this week, my friends. See you next time, and remember: The things you eat end up eating you!"  
  
Gene sat in his chair, watching Lyn say goodbye to Rachel, Amy, and Maya. He wondered what their cave visions and "spirit animals" were.  
  
Lyn walked over to Gene, who was still sitting down. She took the chair right next to him. "There something troubling you, Gene?"  
  
"Well, Nurse Lyn, I've been having some problems since I started this program yesterday."  
  
"Just Lyn will do. Tell me, what are these problems you've been having?"  
  
"Severe nausea and diarrhea, for starters. It got so bad yesterday after dinner that I fainted while still in the bathroom."  
  
"That often happens to people just starting my program. Your body's just getting used to the new chemicals in the 'Vitaciser' capsules, as well as a new diet and a new way of life."  
  
"Thanks, Lyn. I thought there was poison in the salad dressing or something."  
  
"What what what?? Poison!? Why would a trained health professional, whose only aim is to help her clients, want to poison them?"  
  
"That's what I thought, too, but I've never been so violently ill before."  
  
"Again, it's the standard reaction. These bouts of nausea and diarrhea will soon subside. Also, Gene, can I make a suggestion?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I know you probably don't want to offend any of my other customers, but I notice you have a bit of a body odor problem. Tell me, what kind of deodorant do you use?"  
  
"I don't, Lyn. They always make my armpits break out in a rash. I've tried every brand on the market, but the same thing always happens."  
  
"Well now, Gene, let's put things in perspective. On one hand, you save your own armpits, yet everyone in a hundred-foot radius has to inhale your stench. On the other hand, you get a few itchy welts under your arms, but the people around you don't have that atrocious cowfield smell bombarding their nostrils. So tell me, in which of the two situations would the greater number of parties benefit?"  
  
"Look, Lyn, you're a trained medical professional. Don't you think it's part of your job to advise your patients to avoid things that may be hazardous to their health?"  
  
"You're forgetting the most important thing, my not-so-little friend, which is: Trained medical professionals have noses. End of discussion, see you next week."  
  
Gene walked out of the office, furious over Lyn getting the last word. He decided to walk to the Manhasset Public Library and check his e-mail from one of the Internet terminals. On the way, he pondered the possible significance of that purple-nosed dog. 


	6. Old School Chums At The Harry Potter

Chapter 6: Old School Chums At The Harry Potter  
  
  
The Manhasset Public Library, a stately building overlooking Beau Folsom Park. It had the exterior appearance of an ancient Greek or Roman temple, and it's been said that within the library's walls, every book in human history can be found. Gene had been to the library many times before, mainly for school-related matters, but he had been going to the library almost every day to check his e-mail ever since his computer was confiscated. When he came to the library after the Diet Club meeting, he noticed something very different about it.  
  
Its name was changed. To "Harry Potter Public Library."  
  
Not only that, but there were cast-bronze statues of Harry and his pet owl at the center of the fountain in front of the entrance. Gene walked closer to the fountain, and saw a plaque at the base of the statue. It read, "Dedicated To Harry Potter, For Making Kids Put Down Their Joysticks And Start Reading Frikkin' Books Again. And Because Every Great Fanfic Must Involve Harry Potter In One Way Or Another."  
  
Gene entered the library, and found Harry Potter-related posters all over the walls and bookcases. All bearing cheesy slogans and catch phrases, like "Reading Is Magical" and "A Great Book Is More Satisfying Than A Well-Played Game of Quidditch, Especially If J. K. Rowling Happened To Write It." Gene looked for the Internet terminals, muttering something about a man named Pitcairn who always took jokes too far.  
  
Gene heard a familiar voice calling. "Hey, Gene! It's been a while!"  
  
It was Gene's old friend from school, Colin Faden, studying at one of the tables with two more of his friends, Leslie Feldheim and Ceryle Vanderpool. They were all taking notes and reading books with pictures of exotic-looking plants.  
  
"Colin! Ceryle! Leslie! Doing something for school?"  
  
"Yeah, we're doing research for a group presentation in our Botany class," said Colin.  
  
"It's about the poisonous plants of Alberia," said Ceryle.  
  
"We're all taking summer classes at Manhasset University, so we can get all the required credits out of the way as soon as possible," said Leslie.  
  
Ceryle stood up to get a closer look at Gene. She was a year younger and slightly shorter than Colin and Leslie, but she graduated the same year as them because she skipped a grade when she was in elementary school. She knew Gene ever since they were children, and she always had a crush on him, although he never really got her signals. Once, a long time ago, she even saved his life when he was attacked by a street gang.  
  
"You look like you've lost some weight, Gene. What happened?" Ceryle asked, her eyes on his progressively shrinking belly.  
  
"Well, you know that new weight loss center called 'Diet Club' that opened about a month ago?"  
  
Leslie filled in the blank. "Let me guess, your parents forced you to join?"  
  
"Yeah, and I've been hating every minute of it. The whole operation's run by this one nurse, who made me completely change my diet. Now I can't eat anything but salads, with this nasty dressing. It's made me need to go to the bathroom a lot more often, if you know what I mean."  
  
"So you're saying that there might be something in the salad dressing that's causing this?" Colin asked.  
  
"There has to be. Who knows, maybe it's some kind of poisonous plant extract. Or maybe it's made in a factory with a bunch of people throwing up in jars, packaging it, and labeling it as salad dressing."  
  
"Unlikely!" Leslie interrupted. "You've never really had salad before you started this diet, have you?"  
  
"No, not to my knowledge. Unless you count macaroni and potato salad. Which, unfortunately, despite their names, are strictly forbidden."  
  
"Well then, maybe you're just not used to the taste of it. Maybe it's just balsamic vinegar or something."  
  
"That doesn't explain the severe reaction I'm getting, though."  
  
Ceryle made a suggestion. "You could always look at the bottle of the salad dressing, find out where it's made, and break into that place so you could investigate. I'm sure it's somewhere in Manhasset."  
  
"You know, Ceryle, that's a great idea!" Gene ran off.  
  
  
  
  
  
Three more pills, one more salad, one more agonizing bathroom session. It was both physically and mentally draining for Gene. But he knew something was up, so he checked the address on the bottle of salad dressing. It read, "Diet Club Supply House, 8030 E 46th St." Although the thoroughfares in Manhasset were all named for "Secret of Evermore" staff members, they were referred to by their numbers in official and business-related cases, so people from outside the city would have an easier time finding them.  
  
The supply house was only a short distance from the Rothmans' apartment, so Gene decided to walk there. He noticed he had been doing a lot more walking these past few days; perhaps it was because his new, thinner body made it possible for him to exercise more without getting tired.  
  
It was a gray warehouse with metallic outer walls. Guards, wearing gray and red suits and carrying guns were watching the front entrance, so Gene had to circle around the building to find an alternate entrance. He eventually found a ramp leading up to a huge door, with a sign reading "Supply Dock" above it. Gene inconspicuously entered the warehouse, watching for guards at every corner.  
  
The "Supply Dock" entrance led to a room which had cardboard boxes piled to the ceiling. The boxes read "Warning" and "Danger," and some boxes were open. Gene opened one of the cardboard boxes and took out a couple of giant glass bottles full of liquid that was almost exactly the same color as the salad dressing, except much clearer. The labels on these bottles read "Poison." Gene gasped.  
  
In the next room, Gene saw what looked like little puddles of vomit and excrement moving across a conveyor belt. There was a pipe connected to a machine at the opposite end of the room, and Gene noticed the puddles were coming out of the pipe. He then saw a door on the side of the machine which led into it. Gene's heart raced when the door opened, and Rachel walked out! She was wearing the same gray and red uniform of the guards, so Gene ran out of the factory as fast as he could. Before he left, he took one of the bottles of poison as his evidence. He had always suspected that the three ladies in the waiting room were somehow in on Diet Club's evil scheme, and now he had undeniable proof. 


	7. Venus And Mars And A Sky Full Of Stars

Chapter 7: Venus And Mars And A Sky Full Of Stars  
  
  
The shocking behind-the-scenes look at Diet Club that Gene saw in that midtown factory yesterday made it impossible for him to fall asleep that night. He lied awake all night, dreading the fact his body was being dissolved from the inside, creating the illusion of health and fitness. Everybody he was close to noticed his weight loss... the Geldfarbs, his old friends from school, and even Lyn, that fakey-friendly fiend in nurse's clothing.  
  
Everybody, that is, except for his parents. Amazingly enough, they never physically saw him since he passed out in the bathroom that Monday. They were always away for one reason or another, whether it was work or a work-related function. And whenever they were home, he was always in the bathroom.  
  
Gene also became paranoid, and endlessly worried about the possibility of someone seeing him raid the factory and steal a bottle of poison. He tried his absolute best to avoid being seen by any guards and laborers, but he lied in his bed and what-iffed about hidden cameras.  
  
Eventually, the sun came up and the alarm clock radio automatically turned on. The DJ put on one of the innumerable songs with "I Love You," "Yeah," "Whoa," and "Baby" in the title, but Gene couldn't tell which one it was. They all sounded the same to him... Perhaps it was "Whoa, Baby, Baby, I Love You," or "Love You Baby, Yeah, Whoa," or another possible combination of those words.  
  
Gene was about to go downstairs to fix himself a breakfast salad, but the second he stepped out of his bedroom sanctuary, he felt an urgent need to use the bathroom. This could not go on for much longer.  
  
It felt good for Gene to flush the poison out of his system. His stomach was making weird noises lately, like a black cauldron full of boiling oil. He read the main section of today's Manhasset Times newspaper, which Desmond must have left behind when he took his morning shower. Desmond often absentmindedly left things in the bathroom, such as his glasses, his coffee, and the morning news. It was up to Gene to return those things to where they belong, although his father never thanked him for it. The elder Rothman just thought that they returned to their places on their own free will, or something.  
  
Feeling particularly depressed and morbid this particular Wednesday morning, Gene turned to the obituaries page, wondering if anyone he knew was there. Not only did he find a familiar name, but he found three. A 19-year-old named Rachel, a 13-year-old named Amy, and a 16-year-old named Maya. They all died Tuesday night of unknown causes, within hours of each other. Unless it was a bizarre coincidence, those were the same three girls Gene met yesterday in the Diet Club waiting room. Although he wasn't emotionally attached to any of them, he was more suspicious than ever.  
  
Then he remembered the words of these three departed young ladies. Their whole lives were ahead of them, and they all had optimistic views of how things would turn out for them. But in a flash, their futures were destroyed. Rachel never got to drive the new car that was promised to her. Amy never lived to see herself be interviewed for jobs and colleges. Maya died alone, without ever experiencing even the beginnings of a relationship with a boy.  
  
Three lives were mercilessly taken, and Gene believed that Diet Club was the cause of this trauma.  
  
By the time he finished his business, his parents had already left. He went downstairs to the kitchen, without noticing the headline "Inventory Theft Suspect Remains Unidentified, Police Say" on the page opposite the obituaries.  
  
  
  
  
  
Before she left for work, Molly left Gene a note on the kitchen table. It read, "There's a letter from Diet Club addressed to you. If I were you, I'd read it. It's on the coffee table. Mom"  
  
Gene ran to the coffee table and opened the letter from the Diet Club. It was a handwritten letter from Lyn. Before reading it, Gene took some time to make some observations about her handwriting. The letters were beautifully formed in a distinctly feminine cursive script, completely unlike like the indecipherable scribblings of the stereotypical doctor. Of course, all of the I's were dotted with little hearts. It read,  
  
"Mr. Gene Rothman, I realize I may have given you the wrong impression of myself and my business, and I apologize for my previous behavior towards you. If you can still forgive me, I'd like to make amends by inviting you to a candlelit dinner tonight at 7 PM, on the roof of the Diet Club offices, where we'll watch the sun set together. We'll have salad there, of course, and it'll be the best salad you ever tasted! Love, Dr. Lynelle Flansberg."  
  
That was the first time Gene saw Lyn use her full name.  
  
  
  
  
  
It was 6:45, and Gene's parents were still away. He put on the same oversized sport coat and silk pants he wore to the United World Summit in Sydenham Palace the previous year, except they were way too loose on him. He tightened his belt almost the entire way through, and looked in his bathroom mirror. Two days of eating only salads has caused his outward appearance to turn 180 degrees. He looked like Colin might look... if Colin was wearing a spiky orange wig, that is.  
  
Gene wondered what Lyn would wear to this occasion. Probably her nurse's uniform again, he chuckled to himself.  
  
As he stepped out the door, he had a feeling he was forgetting something. He remembered the last thing she said to him. He went back inside, took his shirt off, grabbed his father's deodorant stick out of the bathroom medicine cabinet, and applied a liberal amount to each armpit. He could feel them begin to sting and itch, but he didn't care at all. He was a new man.  
  
Gene walked outside, looked down at his belly, and found he was actually able to see his shoes. It also dawned on him that he had forgot to put his shirt back on, so he ran back inside.  
  
  
  
  
  
Gene arrived at the weight loss center at 6:58. The room which once had a sign on the door reading "DANGER: BROOM CLOSET" was open, revealing a staircase to the roof of the building. As Gene climbed the stairs, he began to hear smooth jazz music wafting from a stereo near the table where he and Lyn would be having their dinner.  
  
Gene looked around the roof, and saw a rather nice panorama of the sun about to set over Beau Folsom Park.  
  
"You like it?" Gene heard Lyn ask from behind him. He turned around to see the nurse at the top of the staircase, facing the setting sun. Contrary to what Gene thought, Lyn wore a shimmering pink silk dress -- the first time he saw her out of her nurse's uniform. "It's Michael Franks' new album, 'The Camera Never Lies'."  
  
"Great choice, Lyn. Perfect music for a romantic dinner."  
  
"So, Gene, shall we get started?"  
  
Lyn pointed to the dinner table, which had two covered silver platters. She took the covers off, revealing two exquisitely crafted green salads smothered in Diet Club dressing. There was also a fancy-looking wine goblet filled with water at each place. Lyn took a small plastic bag out of her skirt pocket, and gave it to Gene. "You'll be needing THIS very soon."  
  
The amorous nurse took a seat. Gene opened the bag, which had three Vitaciser capsules in it. (What did you THINK would be in it, you sicko?) He swallowed the pills with the water, and then took the chair opposite Lyn. To the strains of Michael Franks' "Innuendo," they watched the sun set over the always-verdant park in the center of the city.  
  
"We're not so different, you and I," Lyn said to Gene, who had already begun his salad. "I believe it was Albert Einstein who said that everything is relative."  
  
Gene swallowed. By now, he was halfway used to the acidic taste of the salad dressing. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"  
  
"Are you, perchance, of any relation to a man named Eddie Rothman who graduated from Andrew Aversa High School four years ago?"  
  
"Yeah, he's my older brother, why?"  
  
"We used to date."  
  
The conversation stopped, and the song got to the part about salads and dressing.  
  
Lyn decided to take it upon herself to revive the conversation. "We met each other in 9th grade, and went steady until about the time of graduation. We both felt it was for the best, as our futures were leading us into different places anyway. He wanted to attend the university in Novartis, and I wanted to stay here and go to medical school. My greatest wish was to start my own business in the nutrition field."  
  
"And you got your wish, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes, but I also wish I could attract more customers. They rarely last more than a few days on my program, and most of them quit for one reason or another. You, Gene Rothman... you must hold the record for staying on my diet the longest."  
  
The conversation stopped again, and the song got to the part about poison getting stronger.  
  
Gene had heard enough, and he felt it was necessary to destroy the romantic mood in one fell swoop. "Yes, Lyn, I guess dying WOULD be a valid reason for a person to quit your weight loss program, am I right?"  
  
As Gene said the word "dying," Lyn found that it was an accurate word to describe her feelings for him. "What what what!?"  
  
"I was reading the Manhasset Times earlier today, and guess who I saw in the obituaries! That's right, three of your valued customers. Rachel, age 19. Amy, age 13. And Maya, age 16. They all went to the big salad bowl in the sky, within hours of each other."  
  
Lyn jumped out of her chair, and ran to the stereo to turn off the Michael Franks CD. "Wait, Gene, you don't understand. Manhasset is a really really big city. There's bound to be more than one person named Rachel who happens to be 19."  
  
"But wait! There's more," said Gene in his best impression of a game show host. "I went to the factory where Diet Club salad dressing is made, and I found a lot of cardboard boxes full of bottles marked 'Poison'. And I saw Rachel working there, too. They were probably using her waste to mix with this poison!"  
  
"Oh, Gene, Gene, Gene... The only ingredients of the salad dressing are balsamic vinegar and spices. Let me guess, you went to that factory on 8030 Northeast 46th Street, correct?"  
  
"Yes, why?"  
  
"That's the Greater Manhasset Fake Dog Doo And Vomit Company's factory, you imbecile! And the G.M.F.D.D.A.V.C. has leased part of the building to Alberian Fragrances Incorporated as an inventory storage facility. That 'Poison' you saw is the trademark name of a women's perfume that they manufacture. And they also make men's cologne, under the trademark names 'Warning' and 'Danger'."  
  
"What the!? But the address on the back of the salad dressing bottle CLEARLY said..."  
  
"Our products are made in a laboratory on 8030 SOUTHeast 46th Street! 'Clearly,' you had the wrong address all along!"  
  
"Then how do you explain the almost-simultaneous deaths of the three girls?"  
  
"I saw a report on the news last night, which stated they all died in a car crash. Ever thought about the possibility of a car crash? Well?"  
  
Gene walked down the staircase, once again furious at Lyn for having valid explanations for every side of his story. "Feh! If there's one thing life has taught me, it's to know when I'm beaten. And this, Lynelle Flansberg, is not only 'one of those times,' but it's on the Top 10 list of my worst defeats and humiliations! That being said, I'm going to go home and take a huge-ass dump."  
  
Lyn wrinkled her nose. "Did you really find it necessary to be so graphic?"  
  
Gene had hit rock bottom. Before he left the premises, he ended Lyn's ruined romantic rendezvous by paying homage to the Animaniacs. "Goodbyyyyye, Nurse!" 


	8. The Most Unlikely Of All Alliances

Chapter 8: The Most Unlikely Of All Alliances  
  
  
Thursday.  
  
Gene felt increasingly weak and light-headed since last night's dinner, and went to bed earlier than usual. He fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow, and had a dream about the ice cave and his coruplent canine "spirit animal." Gene came to the conclusion that there was a certain truth to this dream: that no matter how much fat and flesh is melted away, he'll always be a fat boy at heart.  
  
That morning, he looked in the bathroom mirror, raised his arms, and noticed patches of swollen red skin under them. "Curse that deodorant," he murmured. "Curse Lyn, while you're at it."  
  
Gene's bathroom visits became less and less frequent, possibly because he had less matter to expel. He had become thinner than Colin at this point, and he couldn't think of any ways to explain it after his theories have all been proven wrong from his meeting with Lyn last night. He decided to go back to the Harry Potter Public Library, check his e-mail (which he forgot to do on Tuesday, and was too busy getting ready for his dinner with Lyn on Wednesday), and possibly find out the true cause of his affliction.  
  
Gene's blue clamkicker pants were baggier than ever, making him look a bit like Hammer in his music videos. And the belt could not be tied any tighter. Something had to be done about it. Gene was dying.  
  
  
  
  
  
Colin, Ceryle, and Leslie were sitting at the same table at the Potter Library that they were on Tuesday.  
  
"You are not going to believe this, ladies. I heard that that jerk, Hershbrad, is in town to visit his family for a couple of weeks." Colin said to his two groupmates.  
  
"Hershbrad, as in Bein Hershbrad? The time he spent in Novartis probably made him more of an intolerant bullhead than he already is!" Leslie always harbored a dislike for Bein Hershbrad, because he and his intellectual clique would often bully Gene around for no apparent reason. She and her longtime boyfriend, Colin, had made up a name for Bein and his friends: the Maledictorians.  
  
Ceryle noticed someone walking down the hall. He had the same hairstyle and clothes as Gene, but he looked like a balloon that almost all the air had been let out of. Now that Gene was thinner than Colin, his friends were genuinely worried for his life. Especially Ceryle.  
  
Gene told the three study buddies about everything that happened since he last saw them. About what he saw in the factory, and his dinner with Lyn, and the unknown piece of the puzzle.  
  
Ceryle, who was more than just a friend to Gene, was the first to speak. "I always thought you'd die of a heart attack, or diabetes. What a world!"  
  
Leslie followed. "So it's not the salad dressing, we've ruled that out. And lots of people eat salads without any complications."  
  
"Are there any other changes to your diet that have been made at the beginning of this week?" Colin stumbled upon a possible revelation.  
  
"Well, there are those 'Vitaciser' capsules. I've been taking three pills before every meal, for three meals a day."  
  
Suddenly, Colin's eyes nearly shot out of his head. He jumped out of his seat, with a resounding "What the!?" His eyes were fixed on a single man on the opposite side of the room, looking for books with his back to Colin and his friends.  
  
"Hey you guys, doesn't he look a little bit like Bein Hershbrad?"  
  
The mystery man took a book off the shelf and turned around. Gene shivered. "That's him, all right."  
  
As if sensing that people in the vicinity were talking about him, Bein put the book down, looked around the room, and locked stares with Colin. "They see me," Bein mumbled.  
  
"He sees us," Colin half-echoed to Gene and the others. Bein made a beeline for their table.  
  
"Hello, Colin."  
  
"Hello, HERSHBRAD."  
  
"Let's see here, I recognize you, and your girlfriend, and the dark-skinned girl with the crush on the fat guy... but who's the fourth member of your little study group? Someone you know from your second-rate silver-medal junior college?"  
  
Gene spoke up. "Bein Jeffrey Hershbrad, you haven't changed a bit. Always thinking of new ways to insult us. So tell me, how's the weather in Novartis?"  
  
Bein's question was answered. "So, Rothman. It's been a long time, and I see that unlike my always dynamic, hyper-intelligent, irresistable-to-ladies self, you have changed. So tell me, what's your secret? Did Murray's Deli close?"  
  
"For your information, Mister Hershbrad, my parents have recently signed me up for a new, experimental, and possibly harmful weight loss program called 'Diet Club.' I have reason to believe that the 'Vitaciser' capsules they're giving me contain some kind of poison, because I'm getting thinner at an alarming rate, and if this keeps up, I'll die."  
  
"It appears the not-so-mighty Rothman shall soon fall, eh?"  
  
"I guess you're going to find my misfortune is a joyous occasion, Bein?"  
  
"Well, Gene, the OLD Bein would have. But I've grown both physically and mentally during the period I spent in Novartis, and I realize that even the greatest evil force must obey a certain ethical and moral code. And there's a set of rules that all arch-enemies, like you and I, must follow as well. The first of these rules is: Never let an outside entity or organization prevent you from destroying your opponent."  
  
Gene's eyes lit up. "You mean...?"  
  
"Yes, Rothman. For once, we are united. In our crusade... against those who call themselves 'Diet Club'!" As he made his proclamation, Bein's voice was much more dramatic and commanding than ever. Gene and his three friends applauded Bein's unlikely decision, until a white-haired female librarian walked over to their table, gave them a rather annoyed look, and ordered them to leave the premises for excessive noise. 


	9. It Doesn't Seem Right, Does It?

Chapter 9: It Doesn't Seem Right, Does It?  
  
  
Bein agreed to help Gene and his friends as a matter of principle, at least for the time being. He wasn't about to give Diet Club the satisfaction of being responsible for the death of the man who was voted "Most Likely To Live Under An Overpass."  
  
After leaving the Potter Library, Bein told his new allies about a room in his family's apartment devoted to scientific experiments, and about a machine he co-created while he was in Novartis, which could analyze the chemical composition of any substance. Gene knew he could use it to discover what poison was in the Diet Club's pills.  
  
The group arrived at the Hershbrads' apartment. "The 'rents are at work now, but I have... the key to get us in!" Bein proudly brandished his house key, taking advantage of the fact that at this moment, he held Gene Rothman's existence in his hands.  
  
Bein and his family lived in a place that basically resembled every other apartment in Manhasset, with one small difference: Every room was decorated with innumerable trophies, plaques, and medals that Bein had won over the years for his academic, scientific, and tennis accomplishments.  
  
"You... play tennis?" Colin asked, surprised.  
  
Bein shrugged it off. "Meh, it's easy. It's just like Pong, except you're the paddle."  
  
Colin, Ceryle, and Leslie were all honor students, but the combined number of awards they possessed didn't even come close to Bein's. Gene and his friends were stunned. All they could do was look around the room, their mouths open in sheer awe.  
  
Bein angrily turned around to face them. "Hey. Hey. Hey, hey, hey. You can close your mouths now. Insects'll fly in. Shall we go over to my secret laboratory now, or shall we stand here and stare at the products of my utter human perfection all day?" Bein was one of those people who said "la-BOR-atory" instead of "LAB-ra-tory."  
  
And an impressive-looking la-BOR-atory it was. Odd-looking gadgets all over the place. Let's put it this way: if Dexter or Jimmy Neutron lived in Manhasset, they'd often stop by Bein's place for experiment-related ideas and ways to improve their tennis scores.  
  
"Gimme one of your pills, Gene. I gotta run a test on it."  
  
Gene always kept three pills and a small vial of salad dressing with him, just in case he found himself eating on the go. So he took a pill out of that very same plastic bag that Lyn gave to him, and Bein took it. He twisted the two halves of the capsule apart, and a white, powdery substance began spilling out of them.  
  
"White powder... This can't be good..." Bein spilled some of the powder onto a thin plastic slide, and put the slide under a microscope.  
  
"According to this microscope reading," Bein observed, "it appears these capsules are 100% powdered Cyastasia Toxifera extract."  
  
Ceryle was shocked. She knew exactly what that was, and began to quote a passage from her report about poisonous plants. "Cyastasia Toxifera. Common name: Branchseed. A flowering plant that grows in Alberia's tropical regions, which yields an extremely poisonous sap. The poison is also found in the seeds, and provides a natural defense against animals and birds that try to eat them. The specific epithet, 'Toxifera,' literally means 'toxin-bearer' in Latin. Colin!"  
  
Colin continued. "When particles of the Branchseed's poison are ingested or inhaled, severe diarrhea and vomiting always occur as symptoms. In some cases, the afflicted person may begin to suffer from hallucinations. In the vast majority of cases, the afflicted person will rapidly lose weight as a result of the two major symptoms, until he or she dies of dehydration. That is, unless a specific antidote is promptly administered. Let's bring this presentation home, Leslie!"  
  
Leslie was the third and final presenter. "Scientists in the military-industrial complex have only recently begun to realize the uses of Branchseed in biological warfare operations. In the early days of Alberian history, warriors from forest tribes coated their blowdarts with Branchseed poison in order to incapacitate their enemies. In conclusion, the example of Branchseed just goes to show you that even in this age of advanced technology, Mother Nature is still as much of a ruthless killer as she always was! Yes! We are SO going to get an A+ on this presentation!"  
  
Even Bein was impressed with the threesome's vast array of knowledge concerning this deadly plant. "Colin. Your presentation gave me the answer we need. We have to take Gene to the hospital and get the Branchseed antidote before it's too late!"  
  
Ceryle smiled at Bein. "What a world we're living in... You seem awfully concerned about Gene, for someone who's been making his life miserable throughout high school..." Her eyes shifted to an unconscious Gene, who was lying face down on the laboratory floor.  
  
Colin looked down. "He must have fallen down during our presentation!"  
  
Leslie kneeled down and checked his pulse. "He's still alive, but barely. We need to get him to the hospital, and there's not much time left!"  
  
  
  
  
  
Gene woke up with his head resting against a chunk of frozen rock. He was back in his own private ice cavern. A deep voice called to him. He looked around the cave, and saw that it was his "spirit animal" again.  
  
"Gene. Gene Rothman. Can you hear me? I am the metaphysical essence of your soul."  
  
Gene waved to the mysterious dog. "Hiya."  
  
"Listen to me, Gene. Although your outer self has been severely damaged, your inner spirit has not yet perished. You are clinging to life because you have a firm belief in your heart that things will get better for you."  
  
Transparent figures of Ceryle, Colin, Leslie, Murray, Sadie, Mindy, and Bein materialized around the O-shaped lake where the dog was standing in the center of.  
  
The dog continued to speak. "These kind souls are here for you, and they always will be. They have known you since the outset, they have defended you when times were at their worst, and they have stood by you through all of your trials and ordeals. They are your friends, Gene."  
  
"Even Bein?"  
  
"Especially Bein," replied the dog. "For many years, he has hid behind a mask of anger and hate. But deep within his soul lies an enormous sense of decency, which he recently learned to use to his fullest. Why else would he have offered you his assistance in your greatest time of need?"  
  
After the dog finished his sentence, the transparent figures melted into thin air. They were soon replaced by transparent figures of Rachel, Amy, and Maya.  
  
"These are the three ladies that you originally viewed with derision and resentment, but when you learned their lives were tragically cut short by their own ambition to become more attractive, you discovered you had feelings for them. You made a solemn wish in your heart, that you could have watched them find true happiness in their later years."  
  
The figures of the girls vanished.  
  
"Truly, yours is a kind heart. You seek only what is right for the world. And it would be a bitter tragedy to watch someone die, especially with an unbreakable spirit like yours..."  
  
Two transparent figures of Lyn appeared, representing the two sides of her persona. The left figure wore the characteristic white nurse's uniform, and the right figure wore the pink silk dress from the rooftop dinner.  
  
The dog continued. "A spirit... that refused to be broken by anyone... even her."  
  
The two Lyns vanished.  
  
Gene took a step towards his canine spirit guide. "OK, that about covers every major figure in my life... except my parents. Where do they fit into all of this?"  
  
"You wish to see them?" The dog asked. Gene nodded his head yes. "Very well," said the dog.  
  
Transparent figures of Desmond and Molly appeared on opposite sides of the circular lake. Their arms were crossed and held high in front of their faces, shielding them from looking forward.  
  
"Why are they covering their eyes?" Gene asked.  
  
"It is a personality fault of theirs, and you should not be blamed for it. They have created a mental block around themselves, so they can only see all of your negative qualities and none of your positive ones. For whatever reason, they make no effort to dispel this mental block, because they somehow enjoy belittling you."  
  
The figures of Gene's parents vanished. 


	10. Epilogue

Chapter 10: Epilogue  
  
  
Thanks to some quick thinking and quick actions, Gene arrived safely at Manhasset Municipal Hospital and received the correct antitoxin for Branchseed, although the doctors told the group he needed to stay in bed at the hospital until his treatment was completed. They reached an agreement on who would pay for the medicine; it was split four ways between Colin, Ceryle, Leslie, and Bein. Next stop: Diet Club.  
  
Lyn was waiting for them to arrive, so she had dragged her stereo system into the waiting room, and put in a CD called "100 Favorite Sinister-Sounding Church Organ Pieces." On that day, she wore a long, flowing black robe in place of her nurse's uniform.  
  
They finally came.  
  
Bein was the first to speak. "Dr. Flansberg, I presume?"  
  
"Welcome, friends, to my office! I already know the reason why you're here. It seems you have ties to that Rothman boy, and you have discovered what was really in those pills I have him."  
  
Ceryle, who was probably the closest to Gene out of all the people present, was repulsed by the vile presence of the fiend. However, she still managed to muster enough courage within herself to ask the ultimate question.  
  
"Why, Dr. Flansberg? Why did you start treading the path of darkness when you supposedly had it all? A degree from medical school, and your own business to top it off?"  
  
"It's a long story, madam. I'll start from the beginning. All through my life I have been tormented by girls with perfect figures, who often had eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia. They taunted me for not sharing their shapes and abnormal mental conditions, and over the years, my anger increased. My goal was to exact revenge against every person who ever said, 'No thanks, I'm on a strict no-food diet, and maybe you should be too.' So I decided to beat them all at their own game, by getting a degree in nutritional science and opening a semi-legitimate establishment. While attending classes in medical school, I did extensive research on the applications of Branchseed in biological warfare, and devised a way to use this deadly poison to my own advantage. And I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for you meddling kids. There. I said it. And it felt GREAT."  
  
Leslie took a cellular phone out of her handbag and called the police. "Hello? Yes, I'd like to report a citizen's arrest. Yeah, she just confessed to the charges of improper usage, dispensing, and mislabeling of a toxic substance. Where? She owns a place called the Di--"  
  
With a swift maneuver of her right foot, Lyn kicked the cell phone clear out of Leslie's hand. "I don't think so," the black-clad deceiver growled. "I have underworld connections."  
  
"Underworld connections?" asked Colin. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
"No legal matters can touch me, for I am a blood relative of the richest, most powerful man in Novartis. That's right, you heard me! My mother is Heinz Kohlberg's sister!"  
  
"Whaaaaaaaat!?" everyone else shouted in unison.  
  
"Actually, I guess it would be an 'overworld' connection, seeing as how Novartis floats hundreds of miles above the surface world, but that's merely a semantic issue of no consequence to me. And now, I shall dispense with the idle chatter, and take my leave."  
  
Lyn opened another supply closet door, revealing a red button protected by a glass panel, a metal rod, and a small sign under the rod. She read the sign aloud. "'In case of having no choice but to reveal the motive of your operation, break glass.' It appears there is no other way... Uncle Heinz, I shall soon be with you!"  
  
With one swing of the metal rod, Lyn broke the glass and quickly pushed the red button before anyone had a chance to react. In a fraction of a second, she disappeared.  
  
Colin, Ceryle, Leslie, and Bein all breathed sighs of relief-cum-exasperation. They were relieved that their friend Gene was safe, but dejected that their enemy has escaped (possibly to Novartis). Either way, they were completely sure that the Diet Club incident had, after all the chaos and distress, reached its end...  
  
  
  
  
  
While Colin and the others settled their final score with Lyn, Gene was still inside his ice cavern, heeding the words of his wise and mystical "spirit animal."  
  
"Your life has been spared, my child. Your friends have once again came through for you, and taken you to a hospital where you will get the necessary treatment you deserve. But be forewarned, though, that because of a side effect from this medicine, you shall revert to your previous size, and lose all memories of the tragic events that this week has presented you with. Time does not flow normally within the walls of the ice cavern, so when I snap my fingers, it will be 8:00 AM this Monday morning, and the 'Diet Club' will no longer exist."  
  
The mysterious dog snapped his fingers, and Gene was instantly teleported to his bedroom. The sun rose over Manhasset, the alarm clock radio turned on automatically, and the DJ was in the middle of his morning show.  
  
"Rise and shine, eight-o'clockers! You're listening to KTHX-FM Manhasset on this beautiful Monday morning in late June! Let's get the ball rolling with the latest hit from smooth jazz musician Michael Franks! Here's 'Innuendo,' on KTHX-FM."  
  
The strangely familiar tune on the radio triggered unexplained feelings of warmth in Gene. He knew he had heard it somewhere, but he couldn't remember any details for the life of him. He then decided it was of no consequence where he heard it before, and to just enjoy it while it was playing. For a change, this was a morning when he didn't immediately turn off the radio.  
  
Gene staggered to his closet, where he got out of his pajamas and put on an extra-large green shirt and blue clamkicker jeans. The jeans had a waist size of 48 and holes in the thighs from constantly rubbing together. After strapping on his trademark metallic blue headband, which he thought complemented his spikey orange-brown hair quite nicely, Gene was ready to face the day.  
  
Or so he thought.  
  
"Did you get fatter overnight?"  
  
  
CURTAIN 


	11. Bonus Chapter: IN.DO.GU.TSU Interviews P...

Chapter 11: IN.DO.GU.TSU Interviews PitcairnMan  
  
  
After I finished writing "Diet Club" and before I uploaded all the chapters to FanFiction.net, I asked my friend IN.DO.GU.TSU, the original creator of "The Rohan Weir Project," to interview me and ask me some questions about myself, the creative process involved in writing this fanfic, and the problems with characterization that I came across.  
  
  
IN.DO.GU.TSU: What is your full name?  
PitcairnMan: Wilhelm Christian Genner, although I'm more commonly known as "Vil."  
  
I: How did you get the name "PitcairnMan?"  
P: I remember I was in junior high, and I was reading an article in National Geographic magazine about the Pitcairn Islands. One part of the article focused on the native islanders, and began with the sentence "Every able-bodied Pitcairn man plays an active role in his tribe's society." I thought it sounded cool, so I started using it as my "code name" when I first signed on to the Internet.  
  
I: How did you first find out about "The Rohan Weir Project?"  
P: One of the first websites I became attached to was Fritz Fraundorf's RPG humor site, Cosmo Canyon. It's not around anymore, but it had all sorts of funny send-offs of early PlayStation games. For example, one particular crossover fanfic was about how Cait Sith from "Final Fantasy 7" formed a rock'n'roll band with Hanpan from "Wild Arms," Neko from "Secret of Mana," Mog from "Final Fantasy 6," and Spekkio from "Chrono Trigger." With hilarious results.  
  
I: Ahh, "Blue And Green." One of the best humor fanfics in the history of the Net. Go on...  
P: Anyway, Fritz had a lot of friends, who each had their own little groups as well. Two of Fritz's greatest supporters were Fred Delles and Serpent231, who submitted fanfiction, song parodies, and other things to Cosmo Canyon. Currently, Fred Delles runs one of the Net's most comprehensive fansites dedicated to the "Breath of Fire" series, and Serpent231's site, The Midgar Swamp, does a rather good job of filling Cosmo Canyon's shoes after it was taken off the Net. The link pages of both sites mentioned a fellow Fritz fan named Ragnarosen, who was particularly inspired by Fritz's original RPG story, "Beath of Flams." Ragnarosen, who changed his name to IN.DO.GU.TSU in 2002, wrote "The Rohan Weir Project" in a similar style to the venerable "Beath," except "Weir" focused more on character interaction than dungeon exploration, and produced a cast of characters with distinct personalities. In my opinion, "The Rohan Weir Project" is an Internet writing that's perfect for fanfiction.  
  
I: Thank you, thank you.  
P: Don't mention it.  
  
I: So, tell me about how you got the ideas for some of the new characters in "Diet Club." One of the dynamic new personalities in this story is Lyn, who was well-written as a new opponent for Gene. I'd especially like to know how her character came about.  
P: Lyn, as well as the entire idea for this story, came from my own experience as a member of [NAME DELETED] in the late 90's. Unlike Diet Club, which is a caricature of the entire weight management industry, my time there was largely positive, and I was successful in losing weight. (That comment about deodorant is based on a true story, however.) The Gene Rothman character, unlike myself, is set in his ways. As for the Lyn character, she's basically the composite of every personal trainer and consultant I've had at [NAME DELETED]. And there's a certain austere, minimalistic, "abandon everything you own" mentality that goes hand in hand with the concept of weight loss. When I saw the movie "Fight Club" on cable a few days before starting this fanfic, I knew I had my story.  
  
I: "Fight Club," eh? Yeah, I did notice quite a few parallels in "Diet Club," besides the title.  
P: Of course, there's the title. And that whole thing about the support groups, and the people who were dissatisfied with their lives, and the whole "finding your cave" thing, and the spirit animal.  
  
I: The way you described Gene's spirit animal... it sounded somewhat familiar.  
P: It should have. He's the big dog from "2 Stupid Dogs."  
  
I: LOL  
P: Also, a few lines in the fanfic were taken from the movie. Like when Lyn said that the things you eat end up eating you.  
  
I: LOL, yeah, Gene found that out the hard way, didn't he?  
P: Hehehe, didn't look at it that way before.  
  
I: Let's talk about the song, "Innuendo" by Michael Franks. Is there really such a song, or did you make it up?  
P: No, it's a real song. Usually, in "The Rohan Weir Project," non-parody songs are made up, but "Innuendo" is an exception.  
  
I: How did you first hear of it? It really seemed to fit the scene in Chapter 7.  
P: I first heard it on the radio shortly after writing Chapter 4. I was making an early-morning drive to the supermarket to buy a loaf of bread and the latest issue of "Nintendo Power," and although I'm not the biggest fan of smooth jazz, that song got stuck in my head. When I came home, I looked for it on WinMX, and upon my second hearing, I noticed there were references to salad dressing and poison in it. So I absolutely HAD to use it in "Diet Club."  
  
I: Also, from reading "Diet Club," I also made the conclusion that you're a "Saturday Night Live" fan.  
P: Yes, it's probably my second favorite show of all time, after "The Simpsons." What gave it away, the John Belushi bit, or the fact that the three girls from the support group share first names with three women in the current (2001-2002) SNL cast?  
  
I: Both, really.  
P: And if you haven't figured it out already, Lynelle Flansberg is named after the two guys from They Might Be Giants, albeit with minor alterations in spelling.  
  
I: Yes, I'd imagine there'd be a lot of TMBG fans in your audience. Heh.  
P: Yes. TMBG's one of my favorite bands, and I suggest you check them out. In my opinion, their best albums are "Factory Showroom," "Flood," and "Apollo 18." And look for Michael Franks' "Innuendo" as well, if you really want to appreciate its usage in this fanfic.  
  
I: OK, getting back to the fanfic itself, I noticed that you decided to focus more on the day-to-day Manhasset life and less on the strategy RPG elements of the original "Rohan Weir Project."  
P: That is correct. You yourself once said that RWP's RPG-like features make it lose its credibility as a valid story. So I got rid of all the weapons, magic, Field battles, and world travel. There's some espionage in the fic, although it's handled without any confrontation. As for the story's setting, I decided to have it completely take place in the city of Manhasset. Obviously based on New York City's borough of Manhattan, Manhasset is the center of a great deal of activity, and I wanted to show it in "Diet Club." There are some references to the floating city of Novartis scattered throughout the fic, but I wanted Manhasset to take center stage. The city itself is as much a character in "The Rohan Weir Project" as its human protagonist, Gene Rothman.  
  
I: Botanical question. Is there really such a thing as Branchseed?  
P: No. That whole thing was made up.  
  
I: Any final words?  
P: Yes, I hope this fanfic teaches a valuable lesson. If you're constantly finding things that are wrong with yourself, and building unrealistic expectations of what you could and should be, then you'll eventually lose the will to live. Which is a bit like death itself.  
  
I: All right, it's been a pleasure interviewing you, PitcairnMan. I hope this fanfic gets a lot of good reviews, because I've read through it, and it appears you have my writing style down. Are there currently any plans for another "Rohan Weir Project" fanfic in the future?  
P: We'll see about that.  
  
  
THE END 


End file.
